


Fancy-Ass Halfiversary Dinner

by buttmaster



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Food, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttmaster/pseuds/buttmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back home, Dave stared at the results of his successful hunt. He was Akwete Purrmusk and these grocery bags were... like... small deers with less tight and firm buttocks. And they were dead. Okay. The groceries weren't fully dead because the lobster was very much alive because apparently that is how lobster is sold? Which was news to him. From the sound of it, the lobster was fighting the quinoa. Whatever the hell that was. It was good enough for Applebee's new cedar grilled lemon chicken, which meant he needed to buy some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy-Ass Halfiversary Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CerealMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerealMonster/gifts).



"You really don't have to, Dave. I appreciate the thought." No. No no no. Dave Strider was offering to cook her dinner, and Jane was trying to think of something, anything, that would make it so that wouldn't happen.

It wasn't that she didn't like Dave. She did, obviously. Or else she wouldn't be dating him. And she certainly wouldn't put up with him calling her 'hot mom' despite being three years younger than her, which was gross and annoying. And led to him getting slapped on his private dick when he said it during sex.

It was that she didn't trust his culinary... anything. Skills? Palate? Taste? Ability? She had watched him, on several occasions, eat an entire box of Pizza Rolls. Dipped in salsa. He turned his nose up at asparagus. He once called Taco Bell gourmet, without a hint of insincerity. Their third date was to an Applebee's. Because he wanted to take her somewhere... classy.

And now it was their six-month not-even-an-anniversary-because-that-means-a-year, and he was insisting on cooking.

"No. No, look. I sense your apprehension. You are just... apprehending all over the place. I know the rules. You are gonna have vegetables. Right? Do you want veggies? I will make a salad."

Translation: I will buy one of those pre-bagged salads and a bottle of... what even goes on a salad? Dressing, obviously. Is ketchup a dressing? It's tomato.

"I'm talking garlic croutons. Premium Bac-O-Bits. The made from real bacon kind. Shit, fuck. For you, I will fry up some bacon." Dave was clearly trying to go through the process of frying in his head. Jane was going to need to buy new pans.

"Dave, really. We can order something. We can go out. There's this new Brazilian place where they serve meat on swords. This place was made for us." She didn't even really care about salad. Ron Swanson didn't eat salad. Ron Swanson ate steak garnished with smaller steaks.

"Oh my god, we don't need to go out for that! Jane. Jane! I will put so many meats on swords for you. Do you know how many swords I have? More than any Brazilian swordmeatery, I'll tell you what. I am from Texas, Jane. And if there's one thing we do in Texas, it is meat. And guns. But I'm not eating meat off of a gun. Once was enough."

"When did you--no, why would y--"

"It's settled. I am making dinner this Sunday and it is going to be so good that your fucking pants are going to rocket across the room because you will not be able to wait to just get to the halfiversary bone-a-thon."

She was going to get food poisoning. She could sense it.

\---

It was Sunday and Dave Strider was in the supermarket. This was it. Game day. The ball was up in the air and he was going to line drive this fucker right onto the green. Hat trick it right into the end zone. Hell yes. He was starting easy though. Accouterments. Namely, napkins. This was a fancy dinner and honestly he usually just grabbed a paper towel from the big wooden spool thing. But not tonight. Tonight they were using quilted deluxe napkins. And they had forks and shit, so it was basically food time.

Ten minutes later and Dave had three boxes of pizza bagels, a bag of the new Wasabi Ginger Kettle Cooked Lay's that were finally in stock, and a pack of kids' yogurt smoothies that had a hilarious spider monkey photo on the box.

Two minutes later and after a scream of frustration, he just had the napkins again. "Gotta get my head in the game. Though. I mean. I can buy the fancy dinner stuff and have the cool stuff in stock for later. Wow, yes. I'm... dumb as hell." Two minutes later, those things were in his cart again, and now it was food time.

\---

Back home, Dave stared at the results of his successful hunt. He was Akwete Purrmusk and these grocery bags were... like... small deers with less tight and firm buttocks. And they were dead. Okay. The groceries weren't fully dead because the lobster was very much alive because apparently that is how lobster is sold? Which was news to him. From the sound of it, the lobster was fighting the quinoa. Whatever the hell that was. It was good enough for Applebee's new cedar grilled lemon chicken, which meant he needed to buy some.

Besides that, Dave picked up a bag of salad and a raspberry vinaigrette with Paul Newman on the label, because when has Paul Newman steered anyone wrong? There were croutons and bacon. And for the veggie he had picked up celery and kale. And for his swordmeat... Cornish game hens.

Which he immediately unpacked, set on a cutting board flanking an XBOX controller, and tweeted.

'Actually, it's about ethics in gamehen journalism. #GamehenGate #ZoeQuinoa #AnitaSarkalesian'

That last hashtag was a stretch, but he was too excited that he came in under 140 characters that he didn't check if his wordplay was as clever as he'd hoped. And he debated deleting and retyping it without the kale joke but he didn't want to blow up anyone's feeds and plus Jane was due home in an hour so he really needed to get started.

Where was the lobster button on the microwave? Lobsters and popcorn both needed a lot of butter? So. No. That was stupid.

\---

Jane opened the door and was greeted by Dave, cradling a large bottle of white wine, which upon inspection of the label was sparkling apple cider. "Welcome home, madam. Your table for two awaits in the place where the table is. I'm your concierge, Dave, and if you need anything, I will be right there at the table because, surprise, I am also your boyfriend."

Jane was... actually pretty stunned. There were candles. The radio was on NPR, which was playing something neat. Dave had bought napkins. There was a big bowl of salad in the middle of the table. There were goblets. No. They said Pimp Cup. Still. "Wow, Dave. I'm... very impressed."

"Right?" Dave approached the table and set down the cider before heading to the kitchen. "I was worried this would be an absolute ass disaster. I mean, I couldn't even close the oven door with the game hens inside. But I just used smaller swords." He opened the oven door. "Ah. Quinoa stuffed game hens. Do you want the one on the sai or the one on the kunai? Well. Two kunai. Like corn on the cob holders."

"You cooked them with the weapons inside." Jane prayed that whatever metal these QVC or farmers market weapons were made of were non-toxic.

"Uh. Yes. Meat on swords. Obviously. Also, I made kale wrapped celery. I call it kalery. Eat your heart out, Paul Newman."

"Paul Newman? The actor? Hud Bannon?"

"No. Paul Newman the... chef? I guess? The salad dressing dude. He is like a grocery magnate though. His face is everywhere. Salad dressing, popcorn, salsa, pizzas, straight up male Betty Crocker of sauces."

"It's the same guy, Dave."

"Holy shit! What else did he do? Direct? Was he a war hero?"

"Yes, actually?" Jane winced. "Criminy, Dave! Put on oven mitts! Don't just grab the handles! They were in the oven. They still are!"

Jane was going to chastise him more. But then there was a thunk. And then another thunk. So... she stood up, and walked around the table. And there was a lobster, smacking its big meaty claws against a chair leg. "Dave."

"Oh! You found Biscuit!"

"Biscuit."

"Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuit, Esquire. Little dude is cool as hell. I was planning on cooking him. Her. Hell if I know. I'm not gonna try and sex a fuckin' ocean bug. But like. Then I realized I have no idea how to cook this guy. And if I'm gonna murder him I don't want to do it wrong and have Biscuit die in vain? Sooo. He lives here now. If that's cool? He likes Cheetos."

Jane was done with Biscuit. She was looking at her pan. Which was just full of inky blackness. Just straight-up plastered. "What is this?"

"That! That is, as it turns out, how not to fry kale and bacon."

She needed a new pan. "Dave. I appreciate this. I do. But I'm also pretty sure this food might actually cause me to die. Probably both of us. And then your lobster will eat our corpses. So. I'm going to throw everything but the salad away? And I'm going to order us Thai. And I appreciate your attempt so much that I will be pitching some pretty strong pity woo your way later. But right now? I'm getting pad thai..."


End file.
